


Love Some Body

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: Be Mine: Valentine's Day Meme Fills [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sex Work, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: One drink is Jensen’s limit. He slips a wad of cash into the folio when the bartender hands it over. Jared is worth each and every crisp bill he brought with him tonight.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: Be Mine: Valentine's Day Meme Fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622650
Comments: 16
Kudos: 126





	Love Some Body

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Be Mine Valentine's Day Meme](https://kelleigh.livejournal.com/360397.html) for the prompt _On V Day, Hooker J1 offers a special discount to his favorite police officer, J2._ This ended up being way less fluff and a lot more possessive than I originally imagined, but that's where it landed and I kind of like it :)
> 
> Tahmoh and Jensen are certainly not paragons of law enforcement virtue in this, but I figure they have more important shit to deal with. Title from my favorite St. Lucia song: _I don't wanna love someone, I wanna love some body._

It’s Valentine’s Day, and people are rushing off to make their dinner reservations, buy last minute gifts, or going home to seek shelter in a bottle of wine.

Jensen makes his way through the bustling streets and pulls around the back of a refurbished building in an up-and-coming part of downtown. Inside, it’s not as crowded as other restaurants will be tonight, though he’s certainly not alone in the modern, well-appointed yet intimate space. Half the tables are occupied by well-dressed couples enjoying a night out on the town, attempting to show off how happy they are, while around the bar, handsome singles display themselves advantageously, hoping for company.

The same scene is undoubtedly being played out at every restaurant across the city tonight. Then again, Jensen is well aware that this particular place operates on an alternative revenue stream. He finds Tahmoh in his usual place at the bar, a glass of soda water and lime at his elbow.

“Good to see you,” Tahmoh says, catching Jensen’s hand in a firm shake. “How’s the department?”

“No shortage of bad guys these days. I wish you were still around to help me clean up the mess.”

The resulting smile doesn’t reach Tahmoh’s eyes. He’d been a detective with the Major Case Unit just like Jensen until he took two bullets—one in the leg and one in the side—taking down a serial rapist. It worked out for the guy in the end, thanks to an eccentric uncle who left Tahmoh the majority of his fortune and the family business.

Which is how Tahmoh ended up here once the department sent him packing with his disability severance, running the city’s most exclusive brothel. To anyone walking in off the streets, it looks like any other trendy hot-spot. An elite meet-market in the hippest part of downtown. To well-trained eyes like Jensen’s (courtesy of fifteen years on the force), it’s easier to spot where the illusion falls apart.

There’s the attractive men and women at the bar who always seem to be waiting instead of enjoying their drinks or the company around them. Couples who don’t have the ease of people who have dined together before. The patrons who are paying in cash instead of using credit cards. Two sets of servers circulating throughout the restaurant taking very different types of orders.

Jensen’s used to the operation. Hell, when Tahmoh inherited the place, Jensen was the first person he’d come to asking for advice. A few years later, this place has gained quite a reputation in the right circles. Considering that Tahmoh’s clientele includes state government officials, corporate mega-players, conniving politicians, and prominent athletes, it’s also well-protected.

After all, it’s not like Jensen’s here to arrest anyone.

“Have a seat,” Tahmoh offers. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

He drinks the beer the bartender sets in front of him and catches his former partner up on life at the department, warm with nostalgia yet tinged with bitterness wishing Tahmoh was still working. The two of them had always seen eye-to-eye, comfortable with the notion that some evils were greater than others, and not everything illegal needed to be treated with the same urgency. Who cared about people trying to make a living when some sadistic scum was turning his neighborhood into his personal butcher shop?

A few minutes of reminiscing later, a warm hand wraps possessively over Jensen’s shoulder, claiming him for the night.

“Long time, no see, partner,” he hears in that casual, innocent drawl. A voice that evokes that _aww-shucks_ Texas shyness, though Jensen knows better.

He turns in his seat and finds Jared smiling down at him, six-foot-four frame folded over the bar. He’s dressed smartly for the night in dark jeans and a black, tailored shirt that stretches sinfully across his chest. Jared had been pretty at sixteen—long limbs, coltish grace, and a sweet smile—when Tahmoh first hauled him in for turning tricks in his old neighborhood and ended up making him a confidential informant instead. Now, just shy of his twenty-third birthday, he’s devastating with lean muscle, longer hair, and that same lick-your-lips grin.

“I appreciate you seeing me tonight,” Jensen tells him, turning fully so he can get his hands on that narrow waist. He’s not just feeding Jared a line; he’s grateful to have him, especially when there must have been no shortage of offers for his company on Valentine’s Day.

“It’s a treat for both of us.”

Jared orders a bourbon—on Jensen’s tab, of course—and sips it while they talk. The conversation is a formality, although Jensen has found that he enjoys talking to Jared when he has the chance. Maybe it’s his age; it’s another method of foreplay these days. Jared makes everything seem easier, even seduction, and by now being with him feels effortless.

One drink is Jensen’s limit. He slips a wad of cash into the folio when the bartender hands it over. Jared is worth each and every crisp bill he brought with him tonight.

Jared leans into him earnestly, which is flattering considering the eye-candy around them. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours.” Going back to Jensen’s would require patience that he absolutely does not possess right now, and Jared lives in a loft above the restaurant. Since Tahmoh owns his uncle’s building, he leases a few of the units to his most popular escorts. Unlike the early days in their acquaintance when Jared met his dates in by-the-hour motels or in the backseat of a van in a deserted parking lot, Tahmoh lets him have a place of his own. He doesn’t have to entertain in his own loft—Tahmoh has plenty of rooms for that—but Jensen likes to imagine that he’s special. That perhaps he’s the only client Jared allows this close to who he really is.

With a silent nod in the former detective’s direction, Jared slips his hand into Jensen’s and leads him to the back elevator, a display of affection for the regular winers and diners who might be watching. Whether they’re meeting an escort or not, everyone in here is paying not to be alone tonight. Jared and Jensen look like any other couple caught up in the romance of the holiday. Jensen’s weak; he wants to buy into the illusion, too.

The loft looks the same as it did the last time Jensen came up here before Christmas. A textbook open on the desk, a few plates sitting in the dish rack, a pair of jeans hanging over the back of the couch. Jared throws the pants into a closet and turns back to Jensen with an unmistakable invitation in his eyes.

The kiss is long and tender. Jensen’s desperate for it and Jared is too good at what he does for it to be anything short of incredible. In Jensen’s arms, Jared feels willing and wanting, and his excitement stokes Jensen’s desire. As much as Jensen wishes he could slow things down, get his money’s worth, being with Jared whips him into a frenzy, and soon they’re stumbling in the direction of the bed, clothes falling to the floor with each step.

“What do you want?”

It’s the same question every time, spoken in that warm, deep voice, yet Jensen is never ready for it. He wants too much. If their time wasn’t limited, he could ask for it all. For slow and focused, exploiting every weakness as they take each other apart. For rough and frantic, unable to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

“C’mon, Jensen,” Jared purrs, heat building from the friction of skin on skin. “You can tell me.” He kisses Jensen on their way down to the bed, cocks lined up and thrusting, teasing Jensen with what is already his.

Jensen’s brain spins like a roulette wheel until it finally stops and he says, “Fuck me, Jared.”

And Jared growls, “With pleasure.”

*******

Jensen wakes up slowly, comfortably. As soon as the haze clears, he recognizes that he’s still in Jared’s bed in the loft above the restaurant.

It’s a nice way to wake up: sex-languid, satisfied, and warm beside acres of naked skin. Jared is still asleep, his face relaxed and his hair a tumble of messy strands across the pillow. Jensen panics for a moment, wondering if he’s overstayed his welcome (and his money). Thinking back to the night before, Jensen picks out the memory of Jared whispering to him that he was welcome to stay—while Jensen was face down, panting, and recovering from the best orgasm he’d had in months—and lets his breathing slow.

Being here is one step closer to what Jensen has wanted for years: a relationship that goes beyond a transaction. He and Jared have come a long way, and Jensen wants to think he’s not just another client.

Before Tahmoh tapped Jared as a C.I., he was working for a miserable piece of shit who took most of the money he earned in exchange for bringing him clients and pretending to keep him safe. Jensen celebrated when that asshole went to prison. After that, Jared worked solo—internet ads, hotel bars, and a sex club or two—keeping Tahmoh in the loop when he saw something he shouldn’t. With both Tahmoh and Jensen looking out for him, Jared knew no one in the department was going to jam him up for working.

Once Tahmoh set up this operation, Jared was the first pro he invited on board. Now, Jared is safe and providing for himself the way he wants to, free to come and go, choosing his own clients, until he wants out. And Jensen knows that he wants out, eventually; they’ve talked about Jared taking online courses, studying sociology.

No matter how stable Jared’s situation seems, there’s a part of Jensen that will always feel protective over him. If he ever thought Jared was unhappy, being exploited or mistreated, Jensen would fight everyone, including Tahmoh, to get him clear.

A pair of warm lips beckons Jensen away from darker thoughts, back to the bed he’s sharing with the most beautiful young man he knows.

“Where’d you go?” Jared asks, mouthing around Jensen’s nipple, his hand wandering ahead to slip beneath the sheets.

“Nowhere,” Jensen sighs, sinking into the feeling of being wanted, _loved_. “I didn’t think this morning was part of the deal.”

Jared’s hand keeps moving down, wrapping around Jensen’s cock. If this is his way of saying good morning, Jensen never wants to wake up anywhere else.

“It’s not.” Jared keeps his eyes trained on Jensen’s even as he slides lower, following the path his hand took. “This one’s on the house for my favorite officer.”

Jensen catches a glimpse of a shameless smile before Jared produces a flavored condom and slips it over him. He wants this—and so much more—but once Jared’s mouth is around his cock, there’s no more thinking to be done. Jared takes him deep without a struggle, moaning and squeezing Jensen’s thighs as if he gets off on blowing him.

Jensen comes with his fingers in Jared’s hair, nails against his scalp. His chest is still heaving when he drags Jared up and kisses him, tasting latex and vanilla on his lips, but well beyond caring. It’s like a punch in the chest to feel Jared’s cock hard and leaking against his hip, and he’s moving to jerk him off before Jared can protest.

The expression on Jared’s face when he comes is transcendent. The moment is pure pleasure—Jared’s semen on his skin, Jensen’s joy at being able to give this to him without any money changing hands.

It feels _real_. It feels possible, at least until Jared gets up to shower after one last kiss, and Jensen knows that was his cue to leave.

He relives the night in fragments as he gets dressed, takes the elevator back down, and finds Tahmoh reading the paper at the bar.

“Good night?”

Jensen smiles and accepts the silent offer of a cup of coffee. “Heaven.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Tahmoh hands him a section of the newspaper and they sit in comfortable silence. It reminds Jensen of early morning stakeouts back when Tahmoh was still on the force.

“Jared told me he’s hoping to graduate next summer,” Tahmoh says after a few minutes. “I told him he’s got a place here as long as he wants it.”

Jensen hides his smile behind the paper, though he’s positive his former partner already knows what he’s thinking.

If Jared wants out, then Jensen will be waiting when he does. They can finally be _more_. Until then, Jensen will keep his stash of folded bills and buy his happiness by the hour.


End file.
